


A Safe Place

by ironmittens



Series: little!steve & caregiver!tony [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Eventual) Communication, Adorable Steve Rogers, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Insecure Tony who would rather Die than admit it, Little Steve Rogers, Non-Sexual Age Play, Piggybacks, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, caregiver tony stark, hints of angst, littlespace, sippy cups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29715363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmittens/pseuds/ironmittens
Summary: For the record, Tony is not jealous.Now that he has that out of the way -- Thor has taken to giving Steve piggyback rides while he's little, carrying him around with striking ease, and Tony thinks it's great.No, really.~(In which Thor's arrival at the tower definitely doesn't spark any unwanted insecurity in Tony whatsoever, and Steve thinks his Daddy is being ridiculous.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: little!steve & caregiver!tony [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183649
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	A Safe Place

**Author's Note:**

> hello! :D a few things:
> 
> this fic is based in the universe i write a lot of my little!steve ficlets in (the first part in this series) but this one in particular got pretty long so i decided to post it separately. you don't have to have to read those ficlets to read this, all you need to know is that steve and tony have an established age play dynamic, and that steve regresses voluntarily (and sometimes involuntarily for a variety of reasons), which often ties into that. the avengers all know about it except thor, due to being off-planet. 
> 
> this is entirely based on a request on the aforementioned ficlets that totally got away from me and ended up 10k words long lol, from PaciPrince -- tony being miffed that thor can pick steve up and carry him around + mama bear!thor + tony getting inventive. this fic ended up going down a couple of emotional alleys i honestly didn't expect it to, but i hope you still enjoy it !! <3
> 
> also thought i should include a brief warning for curse words because by the time i got to the end of writing this i realized there maaay be a couple more than usual (most of them are in tony's head but still!)

Tony is no stranger to horrible timing, both with his tendency to throw shame and tact right out the window at the best (worst) of times and, quite frankly, with all the numerous instances of life-threatening danger that can really just be boiled down to: _holy shit_ this is a bad time. 

The thing is, he and Steve haven’t exactly age played that all that much as of late, partially due to their hectic schedules and partially because Steve hasn’t involuntarily regressed a lot during that passage of time (which is a good sign, really, because his involuntary age regression often stems from either trauma or emotions that all boil over at once.) 

So, naturally, JARVIS announces that Thor has entered the Earth’s atmosphere _right_ when Steve is a) deep in his headspace, b) being unusually fussy about having to eat and c) Tony is trying not to bang his head against a wall, for reasons not at all related to point b. 

Don’t get him wrong — he absolutely likes this arrangement he has with Steve, but sometimes. _Sometimes_. 

“Steve, kid, kiddo, sweetheart, cupcake, _light of my entire_ _life_ , I hate to break this to you, but you haven’t eaten in about twelve hours, so if you just have this sandwich, I will literally _never_ disobey a direct order ever again in my life. Ever.” 

Steve emerges from where he’s buried his face into the cushions _just_ to petulantly shake his head before hiding himself away again. There’s a hysterical laugh brewing in Tony’s chest that he’s just barely keeping sealed there. 

Mark his words, he is _never_ going to become an actual parent. 

The kid’s not even throwing a tantrum or being loud or kicking up a major fuss, he’s just sort of... _laying there._ Listless. Refusing everything. Has been for the past hour. Which is the only thing that’s keeping Tony from getting a bit firmer with him, from infusing his tone with a bit more command. Usually, if Steve’s acting subdued like this, with an aversion to any and all contact, there’s a reason for it, and if Tony loses his cool or even his current gentleness, Steve will only retreat further into himself. There’s a time for firmness and a time for softness, he’s come to discover. 

Tony sucks in a deep breath and counts to three before letting it out on a shuddery exhale. He’s been offering to make various food items for the past twenty minutes, so it isn’t even a problem of spontaneous picky eating. Steve, little or big, is about the opposite of a picky eater, hoovering pretty much anything and everything that’s given to him. Privately, Tony thinks it may be a remnant from a time of food rations and limited money, but he hasn’t actually asked, because spontaneous heart-to-hearts aren’t exactly his forte. 

He takes another deep breath and directs his gaze toward the rest of Steve’s little room, allows his eyes to sweep over fastidiously arranged toys and supplies, all stacked up within their respective nooks and crannies, not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. It’s galling, because usually, Steve is all over his toys — his pretend cash register and his plastic grocery items, his doctor’s supplies and his dolls. But he doesn’t want to play, and he doesn’t want to eat, and he doesn’t want storytime or a bath or _anything_ , but he _certainly_ doesn’t want Tony to leave him either. 

So yeah, he’s having a blast, thanks for asking. 

The worry winding up tight inside his chest is enough to offset his mild frustration, however, because when he says that Steve isn’t usually this fussy, he means it. Most of the kid’s rule-breaking is either entirely accidental or in some bid to get Tony’s attention, which. Definitely works, he’ll give him that much.

Well. It’s either those things, or one of the other Avengers goading him into something he shouldn’t be doing, and _no_ , Tony isn’t overprotective _or_ a helicopter parent, thank you. He just thinks Clint shouldn’t be encouraging Steve to _climb up into the fucking vents_ while he’s little, that’s all. And the cold showers Clint had suffered through for a couple of days afterward had nothing to do with Tony and everything to do with the fact that he just has a track record of horrible luck, that’s all. 

Tony is contemplating what terrible precedent he’d be setting if he offered Steve nutella for dinner (he’s usually a bit of a stickler for their rules, so honestly, he’s hoping the shock of it will be enough to pull Steve from this funk he doesn’t seem to want to talk about), when JARVIS pipes up from above him, informing him of Thor’s unceremonious arrival. 

The hysterical laughter _does_ clamber up Tony’s throat then, and it’s enough to draw Steve’s attention from where he’s curled up on the Avengers bedspread. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Alright. That’s fine. This is fine. It’s fine, right?” 

“...He appears to be on a direct route to Stark Tower’s balcony, Sir.” 

“Yeah. Of course he is. Guess I should head out, right? Give him a welcome-home greeting. Well. Maybe not _home_. A welcome-Earth greeting, or something.” 

New York had already been having a dreary day, marked by a monotonous grey sky and torrential downpour, but suddenly, the clouds grow a few shades darker, and a resounding crack of thunder echoes out into the late afternoon. A flash of lightning tears the sky in two. 

“Huh. Does he always do that or is the big guy in a mood? Because I don’t think I can handle an angry God right now, like, on a spiritual level. Might have to take a rain-check on that.” 

“I am unable to ascertain his mood, Sir.” 

Tony cracks a smile that probably looks like a wince. “Well. Looks like I’ll have to brave a wayward God, then.” 

Even the raging thunderstorm doesn’t garner a reaction or a word from Steve, apart from curling in further on himself under the layered blankets. Tony has already asked him whether he wants to take a nap, which had been a _monumental_ miscalculation on his part, so he heeds past-experience and decidedly does _not_ tuck the kid in or try to swaddle him. 

Damn, but does he want to. Before Steve’s mood had struck, he’d managed to get him into baby blue footie pajamas that had to be illegal they were so cute. He’d long ripped the pacifier from his mouth, but it sat abandoned on the pale bedside table to his left.

“Alright, kid. I’m gonna go say hi to Thor. You gonna be alright here?” 

Where Steve had previously fussed over any _semblance_ of Tony leaving, now he just continues to lay there, staring resolutely at the decorated wall, which only has more concern unspooling inside Tony’s chest. 

“I’ll be right back,” he offers, cadence dropping down to something gentler, a sort of softness that only a select few people can coax from him. Steve doesn’t react. 

“Don’t think this is you getting out of eating something, by the way. That’s still a thing that’s going to happen.” 

Still no reaction. Tony’s shoulders lower a little with resignation. 

“I’ll be back,” he repeats, before he can help it, as he looks into a room that feels strikingly empty despite Steve’s presence within it. 

Resounding silence follows Tony out into the hall, seeps into the walls and the tiles and settles somewhere inside his throat. He’s not sure he’s ever felt as shattered as he does when Steve gets like this, however rare it might be. It’s only ever happened while he’s regressed, which sort of makes it worse. For all that he comes across bushy-tailed and idealistic, he’s still a twenty-seven-year-old guy who’s seen the worst that humanity has to offer, who’s bore witness to things he’ll never repeat, never speak of. It’s rare, sure, but sometimes it hangs around him like a fog that Tony can’t for the life of him wade or even navigate. 

Thor is, indeed, standing out on the balcony when Tony enters the living space, in all of his rain-soaked glory, and _man_. Tony really forgets how defined those muscles are sometimes. 

He clears his throat, forcing his lips into a cocky grin that sits unnaturally on his face. He’s gotten close to the other Avengers in a way that only shared living quarters can permit, but Thor, despite their limited interactions, feels somewhat like a mysterious relative you only really see on Christmas. Not that Tony would know anything about functional family dynamics. 

“Hey there, Point Break,” he greets, as Thor enters from the balcony. His expression doesn’t seem like a thunderous reflection of the weather, so Tony thinks he’s probably okay.

“Stark,” Thor returns, as he comes to a halt, gaze flitting about the Tower. Tony was honestly sort of expecting a _‘Man of Iron’_ type deal, but he supposes that works too. 

“Finally pulling your weight with the whole scepter thing, huh?” he asks, as he rounds the marble kitchen island, approaching the cupboard where he keeps an emergency supply of liquor.

Thor’s eyebrows raise. “It was my understanding that you midgardians would store the scepter safely, out of the reach from those such as HYDRA. The mind stone is a force to be reckoned with, allowing it to fall into the wrong hands is a lethal error.” 

_Aha_. So there’s a bit of that anger. 

Tony raises his arms in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me, pal. We only discovered SHIELD was overrun by HYDRA _after_ handing them the scepter on a silver platter. Well, Cap discovered it, actually, if we’re gonna get technical about it. Can I interest you in a drink? Something to calm those nerves a little? It’s pretty, well, _thundery_ out.” 

“I’m fine, Stark.” Tony swears a bit of reluctant amusement colors his tone. Although, to be fair, ‘ _reluctant amusement_ ’ pretty aptly sums up people’s general attitude toward him on any given day. “Speaking of the Captain, where is he?”

“He’s. Uh. Doing things. Important Cap stuff.” 

Tony tries very hard to smother the wince that wants to twist across his face. 

Okay. So that could have been smoother. 

Right at that moment, because _terrible timing_ seems to be the running theme for today, he hears a call from Steve’s room, an unmistakably mournful _“Daddy”_ that echoes down the hall and slams right into his heart. Tony’s smile twitches on his face. 

Well. _Fuck_. 

Thor tilts his head, eyebrows coming together in a confused expression that carves two distinct creases into his forehead. 

“I wasn’t aware you had a child.” 

A laugh crawls up Tony’s throat, nervous and just a little panicked as he slowly backs toward the entryway to the hall. Maybe, if he had the energy, he’d be able to play this off a little smoother, but Steve’s voice had been downright _laced_ with misery and his heart sort of feels like it’s being squeezed inside his chest. 

“See, it’s funny you should say that, because—I actually got—there’s this, uh. _Video_. That I left playing. That I’m going to go turn off now, so you just stay there for a sec, looking all, all god-like, and I will—“

“Daddy?” 

Tony whirls around, lashes fluttering rapidly at the sight of Steve standing in his soft blue footie pajamas, eyes brimming with tears as he holds out a sippy cup. Dreary light spills out into the hall where the bedroom door hangs ajar, and Tony does his damndest to usher Steve back toward said door, but Steve stays put, gaze newly fixated on a place beyond Tony’s shoulder. He doesn’t have to turn to know that Thor has relocated to a spot that grants him a perfect view of the hall. Tony tries to hide Steve as much as he can, but there’s only so much he can do with his smaller stature (for posterity’s sake, no, he did _not_ admit to that.) 

So. He just heaves a sigh and focuses his attention toward Steve, who seems hellbent on getting a peak of Thor around Tony’s shoulder. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” he asks, voice soft. 

Steve’s teary gaze falls on him once more. He extends his arms out to show him the sippy cup.

“It got cold,” he mumbles mournfully, mouthing at the fluffy hood of his pajamas. 

Tony’s heart doesn’t just break, it _shatters_ , okay. Steve’s milk got cold and with the gloomy expression on his face, he’s got _Tony_ feeling like it’s the end of the word. 

“That’s alright,” he soothes, taking the sippy cup from his hands, “I’ll get you a new one, huh? This one’s been sitting out for a while, anyway.” 

Steve nods, chewing more adamantly at the fabric of his hood as his gaze slants back toward Thor. Tony’s struggling to get a read on how exactly he feels having Thor there, but he does know that they definitely didn’t discuss this beforehand while Steve was big, so he’d prefer to get him away from any scrutiny as soon as possible. 

“Let’s get you back to bed, kiddo,” he says, extending a hand in invitation. 

Inwardly, Tony lets out a great big sigh of relief when Steve takes his head, accepting the contact with far less reluctance than he’d shown throughout the entire afternoon. He’s still mindful of blocking Steve from view as much as possible as he herds him back toward his room, guiding him to sit down on the bed covers. Steve doesn’t bounce on the bed or swing his legs like he usually does, but there’s a certain alertness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Nothing like when he’s big, but enough that Tony knows things will be okay, at least until he brings this up with Steve while he’s big again. As per the norm when it comes to problems, usually concerns, that crop up while he’s little. 

“I’m gonna get you some warm milk, alright? A few minutes, tops. JARVIS is gonna keep you company, right J?” 

“Of course, sir. Perhaps protocol R might be in order?” 

Oh, if Tony could kiss an AI. There’s a reason Steve’s favored childhood toy is a rabbit — he could spend virtually all day squeeing over bunny videos, or reading books about bunnies, or drawing bunnies. He has a stuffed rabbit collection that grows pretty much exponentially. 

“JARVIS, have I mentioned lately that you are _stunningly_ intelligent in every way?” 

“Not nearly enough, Sir.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Program the AI with sass, they said. Protocol R until I get back, J.” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

Tony ruffles Steve’s hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. The ghost of a smile flickers over Steve’s features, and Tony can’t help but rain a few kisses on his face, peppering them along his forehead and his cheeks. Steve scrunches his nose and ducks away, still smiling a little. 

“ _Daddy_ ,” he complains. 

Tony barely smothers a grin. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry. No more.” 

He makes for the door, turning about half-way and walking back over to give him one final kiss on the forehead. 

“That one was for luck,” he explains. 

Steve seems to seriously consider this for a moment, eyebrows knitted together with thought, before gently tugging Tony down by his shirt and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. 

“Daddy has luck,” he says, with all the earnestness of a kid who hasn’t yet had their worldview irrevocably marred by the realities of the world.

An unbearably tender warmth surges inside Tony’s chest as he straightens, giving Steve an appreciative pat on the head.

“Thanks, kid. Sit tight, alright? I’ll be back soon.” 

He nods, and Tony can hear JARVIS’ voice as he exits the room and walks the hall, entering the living space once more. 

Thor awaits, standing up from where he’d taken a seat at the kitchen island. He’s completely dry now, which Tony puts down to some sort of Asgardian magic, and he doesn’t look nearly as confused as Tony was anticipating.

“The Captain is child-minded,” he notes, in a tone that Tony normally associates with idle comments about the weather. His gaze flicks down to the sippy cup in Tony’s hands. 

“Yeah. Uh, look, Thor, some—some developments to be aware of. Steve and I, we have an... _arrangement_ , while he’s feeling little, or when he regresses. Like you just saw.”

Thor nods. “You look after the little one.” 

“Right! Exactly. And right now, he sort of needs that, so this might have to be quick.” 

“Very well. Are the others around?” 

Tony tries not to let his surprise at the easy acceptance show, but it’s a close thing. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, “they’re on the communal floor. Thinking of bringing Steve down there, but I’ll have to see if he wants some quiet time or not.” 

Thor nods again. “Is he child-minded often?”

“Uh. Depends. On a bunch of things. I’d say at least once every two weeks, but sometimes it can be less than that, sometimes more.” 

“We can discuss the scepter tomorrow, then?”

“Sure, big guy. Whenever you like.” Tony’s eyes dart toward the hall without his conscious say so, and Thor must catch the movement, because he’s quick to bid him goodbye after that.

Tony heats up some new milk for Steve in record time. He gets the feeling that Steve will probably want some quiet time, which is perfectly fine by him. Maybe, wonder of wonders, he’ll even be able to coax him into taking a nap. 

When Tony enters the room Steve is passed out on the bed, fast asleep, all sprawled limbs and tousled hair. He snorts at the sight, shaking his head fondly as he sets the sippy cup down. Apparently, bunny videos are enough to put tired boys to sleep now. 

“Didn’t even get under the covers,” he tuts, as he retrieves a folded blanket from the corner and drapes it over Steve’s form. Steve stirs at the movement, whining low in his throat, but he settles once Tony climbs onto the bed with him, running gentle fingers through his hair. 

He listens to the patter of rain and watches as dusk renders the sky a deep blue, peace washing over him and pooling somewhere in his chest. 

Getting some food into Steve will be a problem for future Tony, he decides, as he lets his eyes slide shut and his mind give into the lull of sleep. 

~ 

Tony is flitting between furniture, on a search and rescue mission for his lost watch — last seen late yesterday afternoon when he took it off to help Steve with some of his finger painting. 

_Between the couch cushions?_ No, he’s checked there. 

_On the kitchen counter?_ No, not there either.

 _Does he even need it? Also, did Pep even specify a time he had to meet her at the jet by?_ Because technically, it is _his_ je—

“You’re looking more and more frazzled each minute,” Natasha remarks, which, _rude,_ just for the record. “Sure you don’t need any help?” 

There’s a snarky quip at the very tip of his tongue when he goes to turn, but finds himself being held firmly in place. A sigh escapes his lips. They’ve reached the shirt-clinging stage of his departure. 

Tony turns, and sure enough, Steve lets go of his shirt for only a split second before balling his fist into the fabric again, blue eyes wide and shiny as he sucks on his thumb. Some of the fight drains from his shoulders at the sight. 

It’s always hard for Steve when Tony has to leave while he’s little, and Tony, for all that it’s worth, hates it equally, which is why he generally tries to avoid it at all costs. But he has to catch a flight for this meeting he’s already postponed several times, to the point of it being dubbed _urgent_ in SI’s communications. Pepper will most definitely, without exaggeration, have his head if he skips this or tries to postpone it. 

“Honeybunch,” he says, cupping the sides of Steve’s face, calloused palms cool against warm skin. “You gotta listen to me. Are you listening?” 

Steve nods, bottom lip wobbling dangerously. Tony sweeps his thumb against Steve’s cheek in broad strokes. “I can’t take you with me. Not when you’re little. I know that sucks, believe me, but I’ll try to make it back as soon as I can, sometime tonight.” 

“I go,” Steve says, earnest, even as tears continue to gather in his eyes. 

Shit, this kid is breaking his heart. 

“I can’t bring you, kiddo. You’re too little.” 

“I be big,” he insists, that stubborn crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, look, just being honest here, I can’t see that working out for you,” Tony says, leaning over as much as Steve’s iron-grip will permit to rifle around in the coffee table drawer. A triumphant _‘aha!’_ escapes him as he digs out his watch, the one that’s connected to both JARVIS and his suit at all times. 

“You’re feeling little, and that’s okay,” he continues, as he snaps the watch in place around his wrist, “but that also means that some things are too big for you right now, and Daddy wants you to be safe. Also, this meeting’s gonna be boring, trust me, you’re much better off at the Tower.” 

Steve still seems unhappy, clinging tightly onto Tony’s shirt, but he also seems resigned to the fact that’s not going to be changing Tony’s mind anytime soon. 

“Come on, come sit with me for a minute, alright? We still got some time,” he says, as he guides Steve toward the couch with a hand on his back. 

The moment Tony sits heavily down on the couch Steve is curling up into his side, shuddery breaths devolving rapidly into sobs as he presses in close and removes his thumb from his mouth, fisting both hands into Tony’s shirt. Some saliva ends up streaked across it, which makes him glad he’s wearing an AC/DC shirt that’s frayed and faded around the edges as opposed to a more formal number. 

“Oh, kid,” he sighs, as he winds an arm around Steve and draws him in close, rubbing circles into his back as he hiccups through his stuttering cries. 

Natasha and Bucky are still murmuring to one another by the kitchen counter, but the harsh, sobbing breaths that fill the living space seem to garner their attention once more. Natasha rounds the couch, while Bucky hovers by a nearby chair, expression twisted up with uncertainty. Steve hides his face in Tony’s shoulder, minute tremors racing through his body that Tony tries to ease, dropping kisses to his hair and shushing him gently. 

“We’ll pull out from the mission,” Natasha says firmly, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Not that Tony has ever heeded any semblance of a warning sign.

“Sure Hill won’t have my hide if I pull you away from another one of those underground SHIELD ops?” he asks, arching an eyebrow, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but. I could work something out. Maybe. Probably.” 

Truth be told, no matter how fast Tony’s mind races with options, he’s running low on any feasible routes he can take here. Pepper’s going to be right there at the meeting with him, and Rhodey’s in the thick of a military op that he wouldn’t much appreciate being pulled from, seeing as Tony’s not really supposed to know where he’s located in the first place. Those are the only two people, barring the Avengers, that know about his and Steve’s arrangement.

“If he needs us here, then that takes precedence,” Natasha insists lowly, gaze flicking down to Steve’s curled up form. 

“This wouldn’t just be playing with him for an hour or two,” Tony reminds them.

“Pretty sure I got him into adulthood unscathed, if my memory can be trusted worth a damn,” Bucky says, a note of self-deprecation wound through his smile, “lookin’ after him for the night shouldn’t be too much of a hardship, Tony.” 

Tony nods. There _is_ a point there. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that Steve would _not_ appreciate being chosen over a mission, over any sort of responsibility—

“The Captain appears upset,” comes Thor’s voice from the communal floor’s entryway.

All of their gazes snap toward him in an instant. Natasha visibly tenses up, shifting a little closer toward Steve. She seems to be under the impression that Thor doesn’t know about Steve’s age regression, which is fair, seeing as it’s only been a few weeks since his arrival. 

Tony clears his throat, eyes flitting between Bucky and Natasha, whose stiffened demeanors practically scream _‘on edge.’_ Thor enters the living space with a frown etched into his features, gaze fixated on Steve, who doesn’t raise his head for even a moment, but seems to have been shocked into stilling completely, shoulders bunched up with tension.

“Yeah. Uh, I have a meeting at SI’s West Coast branch today. Just trying to suss out an arrangement for this little guy,” he says, patting Steve’s head. 

Steve sniffles, edging in closer, and Tony reverts to smoothing circles into his back. Thor’s frown deepens as he comes to a halt by the arm of the couch.

“I can care for the little one in your absence.” 

Tony blinks, dumbfounded, shifting his gaze toward Natasha. He raises his eyebrows. She shrugs. 

“Know anything about babysitting, Thor?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

“I have cared for my brother at numerous stages,” he confirms, with a firm nod, “I would do nothing to intentionally upset the little one.” 

Tony swallows his remark about said brother turning out decidedly _murderous_. Then, he swallows another remark about babysitting Loki being one hell of a damn resume, based on what he’s seen of the guy — _felt_ of the guy too, he thinks with a shudder, as he recalls being forcibly thrown through a window, shattering glass and blood-pumping adrenaline. 

There’s an earnestness to Thor’s expression that Tony has only been privy to in rarer moments, though, one that has him feeling inexplicably warmed at the sight of it. It’s not that Thor is a _cynic_ per se, but he does seem to have quite a few things weighing on him — perks of living for over a thousand years, Tony guesses — so he’s not exactly Mister happy-go-lucky either. 

He doesn’t know if this is just a reminder of Loki, if he’s chasing remnants of something he believes he’ll never have again, but Tony _does_ trust Thor when it comes down to it, trusts that he wouldn’t let any harm befall Steve, which is ultimately what makes him offer a tentative nod. 

“It’s up to Steve,” he says, as he noses at the kid’s hairline in a silent bid to get his attention. Steve lifts his head from its hiding spot in Tony’s neck, his fair skin blotchy and red and tear-stained. Tony absently blots at some of the tears that cling to his cheeks with his sleeve.

“There we go,” he murmurs, “I was starting to wonder where those beautiful eyes went. What do you say to Thor babysitting, hm? Would that be alright?” 

Steve turns his head toward Thor, eyeing him warily for a few long moments, never once loosening his white-knuckled grip on Tony’s shirt. 

They had discussed Thor knowing after his arrival, about him meeting Steve in headspace, but those ideas had been vague, thrown out there for consideration, and they hadn’t much been given any opportunity to unfold. Until now, that is. 

An encouraging smile warms Thor’s features as he gives a quick little wave. Steve doesn’t shy away at the greeting, which is a definite positive, but he doesn’t outwardly react either. He continues to track Thor’s movements as he takes a seat at the end of the couch. 

“Would you like to see something?” Thor asks, “the children back at Asgard enjoy it.” 

Steve considers this, gaze darting back toward Tony for a brief second, before nodding, quick and a little hesitant. Thor’s expression brightens, and he brings a hand up, eyes sliding closed. Tony swears he hears a distant rumble of thunder as they flutter open once more, energy visibly crackling between his fingertips in a flash of brilliant light. Steve slowly unclenches his fists, eyes round and fascinated as he shuffles in closer. Thor has a few more tricks up his sleeve with those electrically-charged fingertips of his, but once he calls the hammer to him, that’s when Steve is engrossed enough that he fully extricates himself from Tony’s grasp.

That gives him enough leeway that he slowly stands up from the couch and begins to flit about once more, getting a few things together for the trip, as well as writing out a list of things Thor may need to know, because Tony sort of gets the feeling that gods don’t own cellphones, however convenient they may be. 

Bucky hovers by the other side of Tony’s room, totally transparent in his intent examination of an abstract painting that really doesn’t warrant all the interest. This particular visit to Earth happens to be Bucky’s first time meeting Thor, and he’s still a little skittish about the whole _‘wow he could literally crush me to death without breaking a sweat’_ aspect of things. That, compounded by his general mistrust of strangers and his aversion to loud noise, means that he’s still not entirely comfortable around Thor yet, no matter how agreeable their interactions have been thus far. 

“How are we holding up over there, Snowflake?” he asks, as he slings a modestly-sized travel bag over his shoulder. 

“Fine,” says Bucky, shuffling his feet a little, “think Steve will be okay here?” 

“With Thor, you mean?” 

At Bucky’s quick nod, Tony wanders over, giving his shoulder a pat. “He’ll be alright. Thor’s not so scary, once you get past the whole _‘he’s a god’_ side of things. Plus, Hill won’t get all murderous on me, so. Win-win.” 

That answer seems to put Bucky just a little more at ease, and they head back down to the communal floor together, falling into their usual rhythm of tongue-in-cheek snark. 

There’s a faint smile on Steve’s face when they re-enter the living space, but it falls away almost instantly at the sight of Tony and his bag. 

It takes about ten minutes of reassurances and forehead-kisses and teary goodbyes that tug at virtually every one of Tony’s heartstrings before Steve stops clinging to him long enough that Tony can make for the door. Thor sets a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder, and it really strikes Tony then, the few inches Thor has on Steve. It’s a rarity to have anyone at the Tower who stands taller than him in any meaningful way. 

Tony offers Steve one final smile and wave, chest tightening when Steve gives a morose little wave in response. He sends one final glance toward Thor, who holds up the list for Tony to see with a small smile of his own. 

_They’ll be okay,_ he thinks. 

~ 

They _are_ okay, as it turns out. 

Tony arrives back at about 8 pm, loafers scuffing along the tiles as he steps out of the elevator and onto his floor. The exhaustion that sweeps his being has crawled into his bones and found a home there, he can feel it like a weighted blanket as he dumps his bag onto the counter and tosses his watch down next to it. 

Orange paints the horizon in broad strokes, but dark blues are rapidly encroaching as the sun sinks lower still, out of sight entirely. Steve’s bedtime is around now, so there’s a possibility that Tony could catch him before he falls asleep, just to check in. JARVIS hadn’t alerted him to any dire emergencies, so he’s pretty confident that the day went down with minimal hitches.

“Maybe I’ll get some shut-eye, too,” he muses, as he throws on an MIT sweater he’d stolen from Rhodey sometime back in the eighties. In his defense, the clothes-stealing had been entirely mutual then. 

“I believe that would be wise, Sir,” JARVIS pipes up. 

“JARVIS, buddy, you’re not supposed to agree with me, remember? Now I want to stay up on principle,” he says, as he grabs an apple and makes for the elevator, shaking out his shoulders like that’ll somehow boost his energy levels. If anything, it’s probably the tension currently wound through his body that’s _keeping_ him from falling asleep where he stands. 

“My apologies, Sir. Sleep is most definitely _not_ in order.” 

“There we go. Thank you. So, how was the kid? No problems? A few problems? Spill.”

“The young Captain did appear to be in distress immediately following your departure, with elevated blood—“

Tony doesn’t quite hear the rest of what JARVIS has to stay when he steps out onto Steve’s floor and catches the sight unfolding before him. 

Thor is wandering about the living space in vague circles, murmuring to Steve, who’s quite literally settled on his hip, clinging to his shoulders as his head begins to loll. With the sparkling city as their backdrop and the dimmed lights, it’s a _distinctly_ peaceful sight. 

The atmosphere is shattered by Tony’s utterance of _“oh,”_ which draws two pairs of eyes toward him. There’s something roiling in his gut that he can’t begin to unravel, particularly now, with Thor’s wide smile and Steve’s hazy eyes that take a moment or two to process who stands there before widening. 

“Daddy!” 

Tony blinks, and there’s another beat of silence before he returns the smile, lips turning up in a way that feels almost foreign after a slew of sharp-edged grins and diplomatic niceties. 

Steve begins to squirm, and Thor sets him down on the ground with a chuckle, stepping forward as Steve bounces up to Tony and all but flings himself at him, knocking a breathless _‘oof’_ out of Tony as he winds his arms around the kid’s back, rubbing familiar circles into his skin. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he says, hugging him just a little more fiercely than usual, “how was your day, huh? Cause any trouble for tall, blonde and godly over there?” 

“The little one did not cause any troubles,” Thor confirms, “he was upset to see you go, but I believe we overcame that. I was just settling him for sleep.” 

Tony nods, giving Steve’s back a few affectionate pats as his arms encircle Tony’s waist. 

“Wanna hear what I did with Thor? Oh! And, and, and Asgard, did you know about these creatures, they’re called—called, um—“

“Bilgesnipe,” Thor supplies, with a proud nod. Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so unabashedly pleased. 

“Yeah! And guess what, Daddy?” 

He’s clearly expecting a reply, so Tony offers him a faux-frown of confusion. “What?” 

“I got a piggy-back ride!” 

Something inexplicable twists inside Tony’s chest. 

“A _piggyback ride?_ Well I’ll be damned.”

“The concept was easy enough to enact, once explained,” Thor says, “Asgardian children often ask for something similar.” 

“Sounds like you had a good day then, huh?” he asks, ruffling Steve’s hair. He directs his attention toward Thor once more. “Thanks, by the way. For looking after him and all.” 

Thor waves him off. “It was no trouble. If he’s ever in need of someone, I would be more than happy to lend my assistance.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony says, smile tightening around the edges despite his best efforts. 

“Are you not tired at all? I don’t mind putting him to bed.” 

“Not that tired,” he hurries to say, before looking back over at Steve, who’s still draped over him like a little koala. “But it’s up to the kid. Want Thor to take you to bed, sweetheart?” 

Steve’s gaze flits between them for a beat. He nods, slowly detaching himself from Tony’s side. 

“Okay. Alright.” Tony presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, smiling at the familiar nose scrunch it earns him. Steve returns the forehead kiss, which is something he’s taken to over the past few weeks, and Tony feels warmth flood his chest. 

“Be good, alright? JARVIS is there if you need me. He’ll check in anyway, once you’re asleep, to make sure things are good.” 

Steve nods and sidles forward, expression brightening when Thor extends his arms. Tony watches as he hoists Steve up into the air with minimal effort and settles him on his hip. Steve looks _delighted_ , and a certain bashfulness encroaches on his expression that Tony has come to associate with him feeling little. It makes sense — Thor being able to carry him like a kid, he could definitely see how that could make Steve feel small and protected. But still, there’s a tightness in his throat that won’t quite dissolve as he offers the kid a smile and a wave. 

“Night, Daddy,” Steve says, through a muffled yawn. 

“Night, kid,” he returns. 

Thor hikes Steve up his hip and bounces him lightly as he begins to pace the living room, the low timbre of his voice unintelligible to Tony’s ears. Private. 

He turns away, swallowing a few times as he approaches the elevator. He finishes his apple as he checks over a few R&D emails and gets himself into some comfortable clothes. He definitely does _not_ dwell on the sight of Steve being ferried around in Thor’s arms, because that would be ridiculous and Tony Stark is not a ridiculous person. 

“JARVIS, any updates?” he inquires casually, as he goes about brushing his teeth.

“Captain Rogers has fallen asleep, Sir. He was placed in bed approximately three minutes ago, and he is showing no signs of distress. Heart rate and blood pressure within normal parameters.”

“Cool. Good. Okay. Just — let me know, alright?”

“Of course, Sir.” 

He nods and returns to brushing his teeth.

~ 

For the record, Tony is _not_ jealous. 

Jealousy is for children, maybe even young adults, but it is certainly _not_ for men his age. 

Now that he has that out of the way — Thor has taken to giving Steve copious piggyback rides while he’s little, carrying him around with striking ease, and Tony thinks it’s great. 

No, really. 

Is it a bit of a safety hazard sometimes? Sure, maybe. Honestly, maybe he should—

“Daddy, look! Look how high up I am!” 

An automatic smile comes to Tony’s lips. “I see that, kid!” He hesitates. “Try not to — hit your head, or something,” he adds, a little weakly. 

“I’m okay,” Steve says, earnest, as he raises his arms up over his head, fingertips barely grazing the ceiling. “See?” 

Tony hums and nods, reaching over to snatch up his tablet from the coffee table. “Yeah, I see alright,” he mumbles under his breath, as he clicks to an email from Pepper, outlining the specifics of a video conference he has later on in the afternoon. 

He recognizes the footsteps that pad up behind the couch as Natasha’s, and his suspicions are almost immediately confirmed when she gracefully vaults herself over the back of the couch and settles down beside him. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then— 

“You’re being an idiot.” 

Tony splutters. “Okay, first of all, just for the record, _words hurt._ Second of all, you’re gonna have to be more specific. Can’t just throw statements like that out there and expect me to have any clue what you’re talking about, just because I don’t have your scary mind-reading—“

“You know what I’m talking about, Tony.” Exasperated amusement colors her tone. 

“I’m sure I don’t,” he says mildly, as he begins to tap out a response to Pepper’s email. 

“Steve didn’t start this with you because he was under the impression you’d be able to carry him around.” 

“Like I said—“

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, right,” she finishes, a little smirk tugging at her lips, “you know, I’m still confused. Bucky is strong enough to carry Steve around, but you never seemed to have any problems with that.” 

“Problems? Who said anything about problems? Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, Romanoff, I’d say you were putting words in my—“

“And, and Daddy helped me with this one, see? Here are his fingerprints, and here are mine, right here,” Steve pipes up from where he’s walking Thor through each of the drawings they’d hung up on the walls. He’s sitting up on Thor’s shoulders now, Thor’s large hands resting on his calves to keep him steady. 

An almost sick feeling churns inside Tony’s stomach. 

Oh, man. 

Is this that shame he’s heard so much about? 

“Asgard has a very similar beast to this one,” Thor notes, “much uglier, of course. Far more brutal. But they make for a great battle.” 

Steve considers this. “Are they mean? Cats aren’t mean. Sometimes, sometimes they can scratch you, but that’s usually if they’re scared, or if they’re playing, Daddy says. Plus, um. Plus they’re soft.” 

Tony exhales slowly. 

He’s honestly not sure why the idea of Bucky carrying Steve around doesn’t bother him, when the sight before him does. Maybe because he’s secure in the fact that they’re good friends, _have_ been good friends since before Tony was even born, maybe because he and Bucky have also formed a friendship of sorts, between late nights in the workshop and quippy back-and-forths. Things aren’t so...up in the air, there. 

But Thor, he’s a _god_ , a god who can quite literally teleport anywhere he likes, can carry Steve wherever he likes, probably doesn’t have meetings to worry about, probably doesn’t spend a good portion of his time holed up inside a lab, and. And _look_ , it’s just not the piggybacks, alright? Even if he _is_ a little miffed about them, against all logical reason. It’s the idea of Steve having to settle for him, if, or _when_ , Thor leaves. 

Tony heaves a sigh and sits back against the couch. The look Nat offers him is just a little softer now.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” he asks.

She raises an eyebrow. “No. What?” 

“A spa night. I got some champagne. Had some of that vodka you like imported, too. I mean, come on, tell me you’re not in.” 

“I _am_ in,” she says, with a small smile, “your floor or mine?”

Tony thinks for a moment. “Mine,” he decides, “I’ll break out the manicure kit, too. A couple of face masks, maybe.” 

Natasha nods, folding her arms over her chest. “We should talk Bucky into a mani.” 

“Okay, well, now that you’ve mentioned it, that’s _absolutely_ a thing that’s happening.” 

He directs his gaze over toward Steve, who seems to be listening raptly to some of Thor’s tales of Asgard, eyes fixated on the magnetic whiteboard that he’s using to sketch out a few of the creatures that crop up within them.

Tony sends a glance down at his watch. “Think it’s about lunchtime,” he decides, as he stands from the couch. 

He approaches the corner where Thor and Steve have set up shop, Thor holding the magnetic whiteboard up for Steve to see. A surprisingly decent sketch of a winged creature that Tony can’t for the life of him name takes up a good portion of it, accompanied by a few smaller drawings, a riot of bizarre-looking plants and shrubbery. 

Tony clears his throat. “Hey, kiddo. How do we feel about some lunch?” 

Steve looks up, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. “Aw, but Thor has a story about a dragon. A _real_ story, Daddy.” 

Tony feigns a frown. “What are you talking about? My dragon stories are real.” 

A smile breaks out on Steve’s face. “No they’re not.” 

“Uh, yeah they are,” he says, “I’ve fought about a dozen of them, just this past month.” 

Thor, clearly sensing Steve’s reluctance, chuckles and gives the kid a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s important to maintain your strength, little one. If you have your lunch, then we can continue this discussion afterward.” 

“Come on, you heard the big guy. Up we get.”

“What kind of dragons did you fight?” Steve asks, as he stands up from the floor. He bounces along by Tony’s side as they head toward the kitchen. 

“Uh. The fire-breathing kind.” 

“I think you’re lying, Daddy,” Steve says, with a cheeky grin, “lying’s bad, remember?”

Tony’s eyebrows raise. “So you don’t believe me, huh? Is that what I’m hearing?” He gives Steve’s torso a few playful pokes, earning him a yelp and a flurry of giggles as Steve attempts to duck away. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he says, barely smothering a grin as he sets about gathering the ingredients for a sandwich. 

Later, as he watches Thor scoop Steve up with ease and spin him around for a moment before setting him on the ground again, producing a delighted sort of laugh that he’s only ever heard from Steve in littlespace, he can’t help but wonder if the desire to be lifted and carried has always been there, whether Steve has just been suppressing it for his sake. Whether not having that aspect present is a loss to him, whether it takes away from what he gets out of their age play. 

Guilt rushes through him in icy waves, burrows beneath his skin and settles there. 

His phone lights up with a text. 

_You should talk to him._

Tony raises his gaze to meet Natasha’s across the room. She tips her head to the side, all innocent. He clears his throat and pointedly sets about making himself some coffee, firmly keeping his eyes away from the living space. 

~ 

Tony doesn’t talk about it with Steve. 

In his defense, he’s sort of just hoping this feeling that’s definitely _not_ jealousy will take care of itself with time. Run its course, even. Walking up to Steve and saying _‘hey, do you ever wish I was able to carry you?’_ seems a little too left-field, even for him. Plus, it just seems ridiculous, and, as previously established, Tony Stark is _not_ a ridiculous person. 

So, he watches Thor ferry Steve around, watches him put the kid down for naps, and tries not to feel guilty when the instinctive response in his head to Steve’s questions of whether he can see Thor that day is to lie, to tell him Thor is tangled up in some other commitments. 

He’s fully aware that it’s an ugly feeling, so he does his damnedest not to let it color any of his interactions with Steve or Thor. 

When Steve isn’t little, Thor joins them on missions, in their raids of underground Hydra bases, in their attempts to track the scepter and pinpoint an exact location for it. 

Which, really, is what he should be working towards right now. 

Instead... 

Well. 

“I’m not jealous,” he says, into the dreary emptiness of his workshop.

“I don’t believe I said anything of the sort, Sir,” comes JARVIS’ smooth response, _far_ too amused for an AI. 

“Yeah, well, I could hear you thinking it. So stop thinking it.” 

“I believe you may be incorrectly applying human concepts such as thought to—“

“I got it!” Tony announces, spinning in his workshop chair, “here I was, making things way more complicated than they had to be. The suit gauntlets, with miniaturized arc reactors built into them. What sort of weight could they take?” 

“I believe enough for your purpose, Sir. Although some further testing would be required to ascertain more a more exact upper fence.” 

Tony nods. “That’s all I needed to hear. Lockdown the lab and divert all incoming calls that aren’t Pepper, Rhodey, or the Avengers, will you? Urgent communications only.” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

By the time late afternoon rolls around Tony is adjusting the parameters for a second test sequence on the control panel before him, lit up a pale blue. He’s sure now that the gauntlets will be able to take Steve’s weight, enough to carry him at the very least, and everything is just _fine_ until the workshop doors slide open to reveal the very man in question. He’s wearing his softest civilian clothes and his hair is long enough now to look just a little unruly, a far cry from the soldier-style cropped cut he’d been sporting following his recovery from the ice. 

In the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, he sees Steve’s eyes dart between Tony and the iron gauntlets on display before him. 

“JARVIS, remind me again what the definition of a _‘lock down’_ is, because I’m really starting to get the feeling that you’ve conveniently deleted it from your servers,” Tony says casually, as he pushes his chair out from the workbench. 

“You didn’t specify the kind of lockdown that might apply, Sir,” JARVIS says coolly, “I took the liberty of enacting a protocol that bars entry to all but Miss Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Captain Rogers.” 

“You sly little—“ 

“Am I interrupting something?” Steve asks, amused, as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Nothing at all,” says Tony, subtly swiping away a few of the holoscreens closest to him, “what can I do for you, Cap?” 

“Just wondering if you’re gonna be there for team dinner,” he says, as he approaches, eyes sweeping over the pair of gauntlets that sit there, deceptively innocent. “Thor’s cooking tonight.” 

“Oh, good. Always wondered about Asgardian cuisine. Honestly, I usually just imagine some Harry Potter-esque pots and pans that can move on their own, like Strange’s Sanctum — have you _seen_ that place by the way? Because let me tell you. That dude really overdoes it with the whole magic thing, sometimes. Swear I almost went into cardiac arrest a couple of times just from all the teleporting. But anyway, dinner sounds good. So long as the big guy doesn’t burn my kitchen down. Seeing as, you know, he almost blew up my perfectly good microwave, but that was good, a fun time for all parties involved—“

“Okay,” Steve says, turning to face him, “what’s wrong?” 

Tony blinks. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong? I am, _so_ dandy, it’s not even funny. Oh, and I’m in for team dinner, in case that wasn’t clear. So. If that’s all you needed to know, then feel free to—“

“Tony,” he says, voice laced with exasperation. His expression is soft, though. Earnest. Always so fucking earnest. “Sure you’re alright? You’ve been down here a while.” 

Tony hums absently. “Have I?” 

“Yeah.” He trails off as he continues to examine the gauntlets, fingertips brushing along the arc reactors embedded into them, a buzzing, lurid blue that throws the surrounding workspace into sharp relief. “Working on the armor?” 

“Something like that,” Tony agrees. 

There’s a strained note of _something_ twisted through his tone that has Steve looking up to meet his gaze, with blue eyes that are a little to sharp for Tony to feel entirely comfortable. 

“You alright after that mission?” Steve asks, “you sort of hurried off before anyone could check over you. If you’re hurt—“

“I’m not,” Tony says quickly, “I’m not. Just.” He heaves a sigh, spinning in his chair. The scrutinization burns a little too much along his skin, like licking flames, tendrils of unbearable heat. “It’s stupid,” he lets out on an exhale, before promptly regretting it. 

“Not if it’s bothering you,” Steve says instantly. 

“It’s not bothering me,” Tony insists, voice pitched up a little with defensiveness. He winces. “Well. A little bit, maybe. Doesn’t mean it’s not stupid, though. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ll honestly get over it at some point, so. Probably best to just let it slide.” 

Steve’s footsteps sound against the polished stone floor as he rounds the workbench, as he steps out in front of Tony, the features of his face distorted a little by the holographic screen before him. Steve swipes them away, and Tony’s automatic protest at the action dies somewhere on his tongue. 

“You don’t have to give me any specifics. Don’t even have to talk to me at all. But.” A wry smile turns the corners of his mouth upward. “You don’t have to let something slide because you think it’s stupid.” 

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, skin practically crawling with all the things he wants to say. 

“Does it bother you that I can’t carry you around while you’re little?” he blurts, the words tumbling from his mouth in a blur before he can even give his brain a chance to catch up. A pang of regret fills his chest at the crease that forms between Steve’s eyebrows as they furrow. 

His gaze slants toward the gauntlets, and it’s another beat or two of silence, of the dots visibly coming together in the world’s most pathetic puzzle, before his scrunched up expression smooths out with understanding, hints of shock written into his parted lips and his stuttered breath of surprise.

“Well what do you know. Even sounded stupid out loud. Anyway, I’m down for team dinner, just tell Thor not to burn my—“

“Tony.” Steve is shaking his head now, trying valiantly to keep a smile from encroaching on his lips, “Is this about Thor? Geez, I—“ he takes a deep breath, clearly gathering himself. 

“It’s not worth talking about—“

“It is,” Steve says, gaze bright and earnest, “it is worth talking about.” He shakes his head again. “I’m not— _good_ , at being open about this. You know that. But seriously, Tony. I like what we have.” 

“Right.” Tony nods. “But if I could make it any better—“ 

“No, Tony, I—just hear me out, alright? I know I don’t say it a whole lot, but...you’re the one I feel safest around while I’m,” he gestures about with his hands, a rosy flush crawling up his neck, “and that’s not. That’s not a reflection on any of the others, or what they mean to me, it’s just. You’re the first person that found out about this part of me, the person who encouraged me to make sense of it. Thor can pick me up, but I’m still at my most comfortable when I’m with you, when I can—can come back to you. You don’t have to bend over backward to try and offer me something else because Thor can, because what we got going is already enough. I already feel safe with you. And that’s what’s important. To me, at least.” 

No, Tony’s throat definitely does _not_ feel tight, thank you very much, and he’s _not_ blinking rapidly because of the tears pricking at his eyes, obviously—obviously someone released some sort of chemical irritant into his workshop, that’s what’s going on here. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Steve speak so candidly about his littlespace before, without stuttering and backtracking and blushing up a storm. 

Tony clears his throat, subtly wiping his eyes as he futzes about with the control panel, barely registering the blurry words splashed across his vision. 

_All this because someone could carry Steve,_ he thinks, a little hysterically. 

“Cool. Yeah. Good. Uh. That got—intense there, for a hot minute. Wow.” 

“Tony?” 

He sends a glance back toward Steve, whose expression is somewhere between exasperated and knowing. 

“Need a hug?” 

“ _No,_ ” he says emphatically, even as he turns and walks right into the circle of Steve’s arms. 

“I’m just resting.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“It’s been a long day.” 

“I’m sure it has.” 

Tony allows himself to melt a little further into the warmth that Steve radiates, the grounding steadiness of it, allows that warmth to rush all along his nerves and eventually give way to a buzzing simmer. Steve’s arms wind tight around his back, draw him in close, and Tony shoves down the instinctive panic that comes with making himself vulnerable in any way, shape or form, in letting his usual masks falter to reveal the tangled mess of emotion beneath. 

He pulls away eventually, stepping back and clearing his throat. “Uh. So I know you’re not little right now—“

“I could be,” Steve says, a hint of bashfulness shining through the cracks of his expression. 

Tony blinks. “Do you wanna be?” 

Steve shrugs in a very specific way that Tony interprets to mean: _I don’t need to drop but I sort of want to but I also sort of don’t want to admit to that because I have a guilt complex about a mile wide about letting myself have nice things._

 _Yes,_ Tony got that from a single shrug. When it comes to Steve, non-verbal cues are pretty much required learning. 

He feigns nonchalance as he begins to wander about his workshop, shutting down a couple of projects as he goes. “Alright. Well, I know you seemed pretty sold on team dinner, but how does dinner on my floor sound? Sure they won’t miss us for a night. Plus, I got a couple of those bath crayons, you know, to complete the set. We can make mac and cheese...crack out the galaxy lights...get a bit of Mulan karaoke going...” 

Steve’s eyes widen a little further with each new idea, until they pretty much resemble a pair of blue saucers. Tony chuckles, warm and fond. 

“I’m gonna be optimistic and take that as a yes.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve says, nodding rapidly, before proceeding to blush. “If you’re not busy,” he adds, in a decidedly _adult_ tone.

“Busy? Pffft. JARVIS, were any of those projects marked urgent?” 

“There was one—“

“None of them? Oh, good. Great. I’m glad.” 

Steve gives him a disapproving look, seemingly on principle, but it falls away pretty quickly in favor of the barely-contained excitement that presses through at the seams.

“Why don’t you head up to my floor and pick out something to wear, huh? I’ll be there in a minute. Just got a few loose ends to tie up here.” 

Steve nods, lingering there for a beat before heading over toward the workshop doors. He stops when he gets there, turning with an amused smile that makes his eyes gleam.

“Oh, and Tony?” 

“Hm?” 

“Not sure hard metal would’ve been all that soothing. Or comfortable. Just putting that out there. In case you still have any ideas.”

Tony blinks. Then, when Steve starts to laugh, he throws the pen in his hand across the room with a put-upon huff of indignance. Steve catches it without even looking, which is just. _Unfair_.

“Wait ‘till the world finds out Captain America is a professional dream-crusher!” He calls, unable to help a smile of his own as Steve’s laughter echos down the corridor, only muted once the workshop doors slide shut behind him. 

He shakes his head fondly as he returns to his work table.

“JARVIS, be a dear and let the others know Steve and I won’t be there for team dinner?”

“Already done, Sir.” 

~ 

“He trusts you a great amount,” Thor says one evening, utterly out of the blue. 

Steve had passed out snuggled into Tony’s side about twenty minutes into the movie, just as Tony had suspected he would. Long, pale lashes rest delicately on his cheeks, hair an unruly halo of dirty blonde that tickles Tony’s neck on occasion, when Steve shifts in his sleep. 

When he can’t quite generate a response quick enough, Thor presses on. “I saw the way he behaved with you on the day of my arrival. I see the way he behaves with you now. Even when he is not child-minded, he appears... _happier_. You’re good with him, Stark.” 

Tony swallows. Then, he smiles, faint but genuine. “Tony’s fine,” he offers. 

Thor nods, and the moment hangs there for a beat or two before he returns the smile and says, “Tony, then.”

They return their attention to the TV. Tony draws Steve in a little closer and presses a kiss to his hair. 

He can’t carry the kid around, but he can have _this_ , right here, he can have these quiet moments, these threads of peace between the tangled chaos that all of their lives have so rapidly become. Where things aren’t so... _loud_. Tony can’t help but think he’s just a little better for it.

**Author's Note:**

> aaand there we have it! :) i think the next few requests will hopefully be on the shorter side, so they should be posted with the other ficlets! 
> 
> tldr; tony is ridiculous sometimes but steve loves him anyway <3


End file.
